Joshua Beckmann

     * * *

A pulse asset with glorious visions,
the green river flown out of the cave,
an enormous hammer making from pulp
some distinct love (as say, the Swiss
for their snow). A great discretion.
When the tenure committee said au revoir
I was, understandably, miffed.
Now with you here and your little dog
I can lecture all night long, and then
scrape my teeth on your thigh. A candle
burned down my love – and that is only
God’s anger – as it does rise in the morning
so it will set at night. Winter. The creme
de la creme of the forest. I treasure
every little thing you neglect for me.
In the quaint book of lessons, let
one more be recorded.

     * * *

The last bit of light made its way on
through the kind, through the caffeinated silence,
through the boot and voice. So you wish you had been
treated better, so I wish I had been treated better,
so we all wish we had been treated better,
but you are not the lovely feather
you make yourself out to be, stuffed
with white pills and the attention of others,
you’re a lazy incompetent soul with a
beautiful way about you – which may, in fact
be just like a feather – so I’m sorry for saying
what I said, it’s okay to want to be loved
and it’s okay to want to be okay, but the next time
you call you better have something to say.
For in my house we are very tired, and being
tired makes us divisive, and you can do nothing with
a house divided, so don’t even try, give up on trying.
A tap on the window, a rhythm of rain. We await
a better time and we believe a better time will come.
Judge, for I judge. Judge, for my household judges.
Weigh, judge and discard while still these things have meaning,
for soon they will not, and then where will you be.